Another One Bites the Dust
by simply woven
Summary: Kerry's reaction to the news of Greg Pratt's death...one-shot.


**Author's Note:** Some of my readers are probably like "What? She can write a new story but can't bother to update her two others?" Hah. Sorry, but this is what the muses have directed me to do, so this is what I shall do. At least it's something, right? ...right? Okay, maybe not...  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own ER or its characters and, unfortunately, I don't have any sort of connection to Laura Innes or Maura Tierney (or Goran, Mehki, etc., etc.).  
**Spoilers:** I personally haven't seen the episodes leading up to or following Pratt's death, but I know that, in the realm of ER fans, I'm in the minority. But still: don't read if you're spoiler-sensitive and haven't seen season fifteen. Okay? Okay.

* * *

Henry's crying nearly drowns out the phone ringing, but, with the immense clogging going on in his nasal passage due to the virus being passed around his preschool, he's not quite loud enough. Instead, the two noises flood my ears, making me cringe. Naturally, I'm gravitating towards my son, but when I see Courtney walk out of our room and into his, I remind myself to thank her later and turn back towards the phone.

His crying stops, as if on cue, as I pick up the phone.

"Hello?" I ask.

"K-Kerry?" The voice on the other end is familiar and uncharacteristically weak. I frown and my heart starts to race.

"Abby? What's wrong?" My first thought is Joe, then Luka.

She stutters and draws a deep, shaky breath.

My chest is starting to hurt with anticipation.

"Abby, please…what is it?"

A small sob escapes her throat. "There was…Pratt, he…oh, Kerry."

What thin wall was surrounding Abby crumbles and she begins to sob into the phone. I ache, wanting to be there, to hold her as she's held me on more than one occasion. I also yearn to know what's going on. Pratt what?

"Abby, shh…it's okay, Abby." I say, not knowing whether or not whatever it is really is okay. "Abby, sweetie, what is it? Please, tell me…"

Words are being shared on the other line but, no matter how hard I listen, I can't make out what's being said.

"Kerry?" An even more distinctive voice sounds and I know I'll get a straight answer.

"Luka…" I sound relieved and I know it. "What's wrong? What happened?"

He takes a deep breath and speaks solemnly. "I'm sorry…she's just…it's been a long day." I can almost see him running a distressed hand through his dark hair. "An ambulance…there was an accident, an explosion..." he silences for a moment, allowing my mind to try and figure out some sort of situation, some sort of story. Not surprisingly, what he proceeds to tell me does not match the conclusion my mind has drawn. "Pratt was in the rig, Kerry."

This is no time for Queen references, but another one bites the dust.

Tears sting my eyes as he tells me the details that, as a friend and colleague, I don't want to hear, but as a doctor, I need to.

"Is everyone else alright?" I ask when he's finished.

He sighs. "Abby was just outside the rig…" I realize, at that moment, that we might have been just feet away from losing her. I shudder. "She has a fractured wrist, sprained ankle, and if you ask me, a concussion, but she won't own up to it." he says quietly. "Morris is…Abby says he's a mess," understandable. "But physically everyone's alright."

I'm slightly relieved, but the heaviness in my chest and knot in my throat causes me to end the conversation.

"Luka, I'm sorry…I've got to go…tell Abby to take care, okay? I'll talk to her later…"

"Of course, Kerry. Bye." He says softly.

"And Luka?" I take is attention. "Thanks."

"No problem Kerry."

When I place the phone back down, hanging it up, I find myself falling into a nearby chair, head in hands, elbows on thighs. I'm sobbing and I don't even know it until I feel familiar hands on my shoulders.

In just a few moments, Courtney's kneeling in front of me, her hands detaching my own from my face and cupping my tear stained cheeks.

She doesn't, couldn't know why I'm crying, but nevertheless, she pulls me towards her and wraps me into a tight, albeit awkward, hug, attempting to sooth my emotions.

"He's gone, Court…" I say between sobs. "Pratt…an explosion…almost Abby." The last set of words, 'Almost Abby', hurt the worst and I dissolve back into a fit of sobs.

She holds me, rocking me, for I don't know how much longer. But, when we disentangle, I see that a good portion of the shoulder of her shirt is drenched with my own salty tears. I would feel guilty if she hadn't done the same to a shirt or two of mine in the past.

It's late and Henry's fast asleep in his room, so she leads me to the master bathroom, pushing my shoulders down until I'm seated on the closed toilet seat. I stare at nothing as she turns both knobs, creating a perfect mix of hot and cold water. As it rushes from the faucet she pulls my plum colored shirt over my head, slides my khaki knee-length shorts off, and discards my underwear and bra. She does the same with her own clothing, apparently, because the next thing I know she's seated in the tub and directing me to sit in front of her, steadying my altered equilibrium with both hands.

My tears have dried and I'm drained, both physically and mentally. I lean back into Courtney, my head falling onto her shoulder and my eyes shutting.

"He's number six…" I hear myself mutter.

Lucy, Mark, Gabe, Robert, Gallant, and now Pratt. Six of my colleagues, some closer than others but all valued greatly, gone. Six.

I feel her soft lips on the crown of my head, kissing me softly, and her arms wrap around me a little more tightly in response.


End file.
